Mirroring
by ashehole
Summary: Dancing is an art, and she made a pretty canvas. AttonxExile


"I have to wear _what_?"

Atton perks up at those words as he stands some distance away from Meetra. That's sort of his thing, hanging back while she's the one who schmoozes with every single person in need of help in this galaxy. Doesn't matter who they, where they're from, what they're doing, the Jedi—or whatever she's calling herself these days—has to see if they're okay.

It's a pretty irritating personality trait, in his opinion. And yet, he can't help but admire her tenacity, the way she throws herself out there to do what she can.

But now isn't the time for those sort of thoughts, because the twi'lek she's talking to is offering her a job to dance for Vogga the Hutt—the slimy worm they need to get in to see anyway—and apparently there's the matter of an outfit she's going to have to wear. Well, if she's going to drag him to his death, at least he'll get _some_ kind of enjoyment out of it.

There's a moment where she looks back over her shoulder at him, a pleading look on her face. It's a moment of vulnerability from her—an actual one. Sure, he thinks she's pretty vulnerable most of the time, but that's just because of the way she is. Like she needs protection, _his_ protection.

This is one thing he is not going to help her with.

"How bad is it, exactly?" Meetra asks, her face impassive but he can read her body language. He sees the little half step she takes away from the twi'lek, the way her left hip juts out just slightly, the tilt of her head. She's uncomfortable.

And he tells himself it's his training that's taught him to understand her body, not his slightly obsessive need to watch her.

"Someone else could always dance instead," the twi'lek offers.

The Sith assassin—really, an assassin. That tried to kill her—steps forward, her throaty voice low. "If you wish, I will dance for the Hutt."

It's only slightly creepy at how dedicated Visas already is to Meetra, but he's not surprised. Not really. He's also slightly disappointed at the idea of Meetra not dancing. Visas might be good, in any case. It doesn't matter who puts the thing on.

Unless it's that old witch.

Meetra quickly shakes her head. "I wouldn't ask that of you, Visas. I'll take the job."

The twi'lek is happy, and so is Atton. With a frown, the Exile walks into the refresher, cradling the package containing her dancing costume. She doesn't return with it on, instead opting to wear her robes over top of it.

"It's cold," she says softly, resigned to what she's about to do.

He walks next to her as the twi'lek leads them to the docking bay where the Exchange's offices, and Vogga, are waiting.

"You know you don't need to do this," he tells her.

"I know."

"But you want to?"

Her nose wrinkles a bit in distaste, and she tucks a curl behind her ear. "Not exactly, but sometimes we have to do things that will help advance us."

"And you pretending to be a dancer is going to advance us?" It's not that Atton wants to really protest her doing this, except for the part where honestly he does. It's not something she needs to do, and he doesn't like the idea of a slimy Hutt ogling her body. Besides, despite her history, he's pretty sure she's _innocent_.

"It will get us an audience with Vogga, in any case. It helps out our friend here, so he doesn't lose his life. And I bought a bottle of juma juice." Meetra glances at him, a light dancing in her blue eyes. "In case we were thinking of a little bit of compensation."

He smirks. "I think I've become a bad influence on you."

"I can't let you take all of the credit, honestly."

Before they enter the Hutt's suite, she's instructed to remove her robes. With a sigh, they slide off of her shoulder, revealing... So much more than her underwear ever had.

Atton makes a slight choking noise that he's grateful she's too busy to actually pay attention to. His mouth goes dry, and other parts... Well, they're paying attention too, all right. He's always thought that Meetra was beautiful, and he's seen the way she's moved on the battlefield, with a grace that not many can match. But this is completely different. He can see almost every muscle, every miniscule scar marking her body that seem to only enhance her beauty.

Her boots click against the metal floor as she's introduced to the slimeball, and he can't help but get even angrier at the idea that the worm gets to have this kind of performance for no good reason. He should just grab her and drag her off. It's really the best option for them all.

And then she begins to move. Watching her in battle was one thing; this... This is something else. She moves with a sensual grace that any dancer would have been jealous, and in fact, he can't even begin to think why any of those women before had been attractive. Her arms snake through the air, hips swaying as the fabric that's barely a skirt rustles like a sigh against her skin. Despite her reluctance before they got here, she's definitely into it now, moving with the soft music that's playing as though she's done this all her life.

Atton wonders if she has.

And who she's danced for before.

And if she would dance for him.

When the job is done, they end up back in the cantina, pockets a little heavier from the raid on Vogga's private stores.

"So. How long have you been dancing for?" He asks her, leaning forward, a cocky smirk on his face. "Is that the kind of thing they teach generals?"

There's a faint blush that spreads along her cheeks that he finds almost irresistible. His fingers twitch. "You know, just because I was a Jedi didn't mean I didn't have fun. We did go to cantinas when there was time, and there's always a band with dancers."

"So they trained you?"

Her head shakes, and an errant curl sweeps across her face. She brushes it away without thinking. "I've just always been able to pick things up easily. I was just remembering what I've seen."

He's quiet for a moment, pulling back and examining her. "You've never danced before tonight?"

"No. Why?" She arches an eyebrow curiously. "Was I bad?"

The curl sweeps across her face again, determined to tease him.

For some reason that he can't explain, he reaches forward, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her lips part, as if she's going to say something. They close again, forming into a smile that he's completely sure he doesn't deserve at all.

"You were great. Please never dance for anyone else again," he says without thinking.

"I don't know," she says with a sigh, dancing around him, her hips shimmying beneath her armor. "I think I might keep that outfit." Her eyes flicker over him, bold and daring, at odds with that faint blush. "After all, you thought I was great, right?"

He watches her saunter away to collect Visas and leave for whatever other charity case they're going to help next. Helping someone else suddenly doesn't bother him.

Atton's pretty sure the untouchable Jedi just flirted with him, and he'd save the entire galaxy alone if it meant she'd dance for _him_.


End file.
